Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I’d popped one without thinking twice.
Relapsing was easy. It was almost too easy on a day like today. All the reasons I had for staying relatively sober, for sticking to a glass of wine and maybe a joint now and then flew out the window. I couldn’t remember why I didn’t get obliterated every night when my brain was beating on me like that. In fact, it seemed like the only thing to do.
I was weak. And now, as I sobered, I was ashamed.
My head was still foggy as I groaned and tried to sit up in bed, my mouth as dry as the desert. I needed water. I needed Advil.
A flash of Holden punching Kyle sparked through the haze, and my eyes shot open wide.
Oh, God.
I started breathing hard, covering my mouth as more and more of the fuzzy memory came back to me. I remembered Kyle finding me with the group of kids who had given me a Xanax, remembered him saying he wanted to show me his room. I remembered following him, knowing it was a bad idea, but having that same self-destructive who the fuck cares attitude that always found me on this day.
I remembered Holden bursting in.
I remembered not being able to speak, to move.
I remembered…
Wait, did I…
No, I didn’t… God, please, I didn’t, right?
I looked down at Holden’s t-shirt I wore and knew even without confirmation that I had.
I’d thrown up.
He’d helped me. He’d undressed me and cleaned me. I knew from my breath alone that he’d had me brush my teeth, probably had me drink water, too.
He’d found me alone in his teammate’s room, and instead of thinking the worst, instead of being pissed, instead of judging me… he’d helped me.
My chest burned, and I covered the spot where my heart ached against the bones trapping it in my body. It wanted out, and I didn’t blame it.
I wanted to tear it out and set it free, too.
Holden stirred, his hand blindly reaching out like he wanted to pull me into him. When he felt the bed and I wasn’t laying there, he sat up quickly, his hair mussed and eyes tired. He looked a little worried, but then he saw me, and a long exhale left his chest as if he was relieved I was still there.
“Hey, you okay?”
He started rubbing my back.
I’d been a monster — a drunk, drugged-up, disgusting monster, and here he was, consoling me, taking care of me, asking if I was okay. He’d been through his own tragedy, arguably worse than the one I faced, and yet he woke up and tackled every day like he was lucky to be alive.
He lived for the loved ones he’d lost.
I self-destructed for mine.
I looked at him like he was insane, like he was blind to not see me for who I really was.
He swallowed, shaking his head as if to tell me I was wrong before I could even speak the words out loud. “Come here.”
Then, he pulled me into his chest, and I broke.
I shattered, surrendering to every bit of the self-abuse I had stocked up and waiting to be released. I let it pour over me, taking every hit like I deserved every last one.
Because I did.
It was ugly, the way I sobbed as he held me, each breath sawing in and out of me with more and more effort. I kept wiping at my nose before it could drip onto his shirt, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t loosen his grip.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my throat raw.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
I pulled back, swiping at my face like it was the tears fault I’d been such a disaster. Holden lessened his hold only enough for me to sit up, but he still held me, his hands on where my legs were crossed under me. He smoothed his thumbs over my skin, watching me, waiting, but not rushing.
For a long time, we just sat there in the dark. I had no idea what time it was. The house was quiet, so I figured it had to be late, but it wasn’t quite early enough for the sun to greet us. I stared at where Holden’s hands held my legs, tears continually building in my eyes before they’d slip silently down my cheeks and I’d wipe them away.
“You asked me why I do pole,” I finally said, my voice low and crackling. “Well, this is why.”
Holden didn’t say a word, just kept smoothing his thumb over my skin.
“Because it’s the only thing that helps me cope with the fact that I’m the reason my sister is dead.”
“You’re not the—”
“Yes, I am,” I said before he could finish. “I am. I dragged her to a party. I teased her about being a good girl. I dared her to take molly, to try something new, to be a fucking kid for once instead of thinking about her future — which she did. All the time.” I shook my head, tears blurring my vision again. “I told her I’d stay sober, be her spirit guide. All I’d had was a little weed. But the guys who gave us the molly, I didn’t know them well. I… I just thought I could trust them.” I let out a sick, sarcastic laugh. It sounded even more stupid when I said it out loud, but when I was seventeen, I hadn’t thought twice about it. “Because I’d partied with them a few times,” I added flatly.